Меня зовут Бадалова Сабрина. Родилась в 1997 году в Алматы, Казахстан.
В раннем возрасте я открыла в себе тягу к гуманитарным наукам. В школе больше всего интереса проявляла к таким предметам, как литература, история английский и русский языки. Решив развиваться в этом направлении, я поступила в Казахский университет Международных Отношений и Мировых языков имени Абылай хана. Училась по специальности английская филология, изучала французский как второй язык.
В 19 лет я впервые попробовала себя в качестве переводчика с русского на английский язык, что и практикую по сей день. В 22 года я взялась за редактуру и корректировку художественных текстов, что, по мне, оказалось довольно занимательно, и я планирую продолжить развивать свои навыки в этой области.
Я также увлекаюсь чтением. Предпочитаю авторов французской литературы, таких как Александр Дюма (отец) и Мольер.
My name is Sabrina Badalova. I was born in 1997 in Almaty, Kazakhstan.
At an early age, I discovered in myself a propensity to liberal arts. At school, I took the most interest in subjects like English, History, Russian, and Literature. For that reason, I decided to pursue that direction of study and got into Abylai Khan Kazakh University of International Relations and World Languages. I studied Foreign Philology with French as my second language.
At the age of 19, I had my first experience in translation from Russian to English, which I still practice as a side job. At 22, I tried my hand in copy editing of literary texts and found it tremendously engaging, so I’m excited to continue developing my skills in this area.
I’m also keen on reading. My favorite are Alexandre Dumas (father) and Moliere, which is no surprise since I’m really fond of French literature.
“One macchiato for Eliot!” Becca’s ringing voice called up. She had on a green apron with an image of a siren on the chest. She was smiling amiably, revealing her small straight teeth and handing out to the man a white paper cup.
It was an hour and a half till the therapy session. Eliot had decided to spend time constructively and work at the closest to home coffee shop. Having gotten a fragrant drink that felt nice and warm in his hand, he sat at the table. He was about to prepare a new article for the monthly for which he was writing a column about information technology. The draft would have to be submitted for consideration to the editor-in-chief by Monday, and Eliot hadn’t even settled on the topic yet. Last month, a subject for his research had been “Technological singularity as a potential reason for human extinction”, and before that — “Similarities between programming and poetry.”
Eliot hadn’t fully recovered from the recent fit yet. He felt weakness in his body and was in low spirits. His head was heavy, bits and pieces of thoughts were twirling around like confetti in the air and didn’t have any intention of getting together as a whole.
There were several magazines on the table in front of him. He set his sights on Bloomdale Businessweek. Its cover was graced with a photo of a man in a perfectly-tailored grey suit that matched the color of his eyes. There was a burning red tie under the snow-white collar, displaying a domineering character of its owner. The man’s face was expressing restraint, tranquility, and some sort of estrangement.
Something started buzzing in Eliot’s head, as if the wires connecting the brain neurons short-circuited. Eliot saw the entrepreneur from the cover for the first time, yet he remembered him. Another interesting character shone through the impenetrable darkness of the forgotten year. “Interview with Marshal McNulty, the founder of VOID,” said the text under the photo.
Eliot took a sip of his macchiato and started flipping through the magazine until he found the article of interest.
Last week a ‘Bloomdale Businessweek’ reporter managed to interview the most short-spoken and, dare I say it, reticent entrepreneur of today. Marshal McNulty, a thirty-seven-year old businessman and a founder of the VOID company, is a topic of interest for many people, since, taking trust in his invention, we agree to inject a foreign body under our skin. Until now, the general public hasn’t known anything about this person, for the man has been deterring any contact with the press. The photo on the cover is the only portrait of the VOID founder available on the Internet. Mr. McNulty avoids journalists. He has no accounts in any of the existing social media platforms.
‘Mr. McNulty, why is there no contact information on your business card?’ asked our reporter.
‘Because I have none. No phone, no email. The only way to get in touch with me is through my intermediary and only if I intend to. If you’ve gotten a card with my name on it, probably my secretary will reach you in the next twenty-four hours.’
‘Is it true that the employment contract in your company is only valid for a year and none of your employees have worked longer?’
‘VOID’s main principle is confidentiality. I hatch long-term innovative projects and have no intention of letting anyone fully in on them. At least for the time being,” added Marshal lowering his voice and diving down into thinking. “That’s why my employees work for me for no longer than a year and possess only fragmentary information about my plans, from which it’s hard to deduce the whole picture of my projects.’
‘Why are you being so secretive, Mr. McNulty? Are you involved in something illegal?’ made a genial joke the reporter.
‘I’m on rather good terms with the law,’ answered the creator of the ‘voids’ in all seriousness. ‘All I want is to protect my ideas from being plagiarized by the competitors.’
‘Why won’t you use messengers or email?’
‘I prefer verbal communication. The web is a space where nothing disappears without leaving a trace.’
‘I assume that’s also the reason why you’re not on any of the social media platforms?’
‘I just don’t understand what I’d need them for. I don’t want to display my thoughts or my life for everyone to see. I wonder why people need it so much. I have no desire for someone to get into my head. I long for neither an approval, nor criticism, nor recognition of my views. I don’t want anyone to dissect my inner world. I silently change the world with my inventions. VOID is more than a watches manufacturer. We have a multitude of grand ideas that we’re about to surprise you with.’
“This Marshal McNulty has one interesting personality,” concluded Eliot, having finished the interview. “Why does his face awaken in me some kind of vague memory?”
September 3rd. Came across a photo of Marshal McNulty in a magazine. His face seems familiar.
“Could I have met him in the period from August 11th, 2021, to July 22nd, 2022?” Eliot kept pondering. “How could we have been introduced? It’s impossible to haphazardly cross paths with such a recluse. That means he’d contacted me. But why would he do that? If his secretary had indeed gotten in touch with me, I should have his card somewhere.”
Eliot reached into his pocket to get the wallet, but, having clumsily fished it out, let it fall on the floor. Swearing under his breath, the man leaned down, but, straightening back up, hit the nape on the countertop. It disturbed the coffee that had been sitting on the table and it spilled out. Eliot cursed. The white T-shirt had gotten stained with brown marks. The man annoyingly looked at the soiled piece of clothing. He already had to be heading out to the therapist’s office, so there was no time to get back home. He turned to Becca for help.
“I got into a bit of a mess.” He threw up his hands.
Becca laughed and gave him a black T-shirt with a green logo depicting a siren.
“Free of charge. After all, you’re a regular here,” the girl smiled.
Having thanked her, Eliot left the coffee shop.